


Always

by ab2fsycho



Series: Revolve [18]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: M/M, but i can assure you, i'm sorry guys, shit's about to hit the fan, this is the last nice fic for a while, this took longer than it should have
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3194744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Layton declares it's time for them to go out for a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

Flora's lessons with Desmond and Paul often left her exhausted, and the professor was actually starting to notice. “My girl, are you alright?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“You're not falling ill, are you?”

“No. I'm just tired.” And happy that he noticed her. He seemed to notice much more now that he and Desmond were an item of sorts. She liked watching the two interact, the way their conversations had evolved from just bickering to a sort of affectionate banter.

She and Desmond occupied most of their time cooking when they didn't feel up to fencing. It seemed Desmond made it his goal to teach her how to take care of herself.

“You know,” she mused one day while they were both learning how to bake a particular dish for dinner, “I don't believe I caught the professor in the kitchen as often as I have since you've been here.”

“I'm fairly certain that before people reintroduced themselves into the professor's life, he thrived strictly on tea.”

Flora giggled. “That wouldn't surprise me.”

Generally their cooking lessons went fairly well. Flora was learning and Desmond was relearning. Of course, when one baking incident went catastrophically wrong, Layton merely paused in the doorway to his home and stared at them for a good few seconds. They half expected him to give them a withered sigh and walk away as quickly as possible. However, he surprised them by covering his face and chuckling into his hand instead. Then he said, “It's time for us to get out of the house for a while.”

Flora perked up immediately. “Really?”

“What?” Desmond's voice was a bit shakier.

“Tomorrow is a holiday for professors at Gressenheller. Why not?” Flora clapped her hands together excitedly at first, but soon realized how nervous Desmond was at the prospect of leaving the house. When he said nothing in response, however, she proceeded to clean up the mess they'd made while the two men stood staring at one another for a moment. When Desmond still didn't say anything, Layton then asked, “Now, where can I help?”

There was a moment where Flora thought of an answer, but was quickly shut down when Desmond asked incredulously, “Are you telling me you don't know how to clean your own house?” Then the banter started up and she thought they were going to be fine.

Later that night, she heard them talking. Instead of eavesdropping, as she often did for nonspecific reasons, she let them have their privacy and tried to sleep. It was hard to, though, knowing that she was going out into London with the professor for what seemed like the first time since Luke had left.

:)

Desmond sat on the edge of the bed as Layton looked over his bare back. “You're almost completely healed.”

While that may be true, it still felt like someone was lancing his skin every time he turned too sharply or raised his arm too high. That wasn't what was bothering him, though. “I'm not positive I should go out tomorrow.”

“Why not?” Layton repeated.

“Don't 'why not' me, you know why not,” Desmond growled as he slipped off his glasses to set them on the nightstand. “It's too dangerous.”

“Did anybody ever figure out you were Jean Descole?” Desmond knew the answer was no, but he gave no reply. He still thought it too risky. He could handle himself once he had the strength again. He didn't want to have to worry about Layton and Flora as well. Desmond felt the dip in the bed as the professor settled into the blankets. “I think it will do you some good to go out.”

“Layton—”

“Just one day,” Layton murmured. “That's all I ask.”

Desmond sighed, tucking himself in beside Layton and burying his head in the crook of the other's neck without thinking much of how intimate the position was. He closed his eyes and sighed as Layton wrapped an arm around him slowly, almost hesitantly. For a pair of adults who'd seen one another nude, they were still rather shy with each other. Desmond understood why. He understood why completely, but no matter how much the thought hurt he wanted this. He wanted the intimacy more than he had any right to. Now that he took the time to acknowledge and entertain such thoughts, he realized the tension before had been unbearable.

He listened to Layton's heart rate drop and his breathing slow down and grow steady. In the quietude he thought of, of all people, Raymond. Desmond had stopped counting the weeks he'd been with Layton and Flora, and he had stopped waiting to hear from the old man. In a way, he wondered if he ever would. Would Raymond just leave him here? Would he just let him stay there? He didn't put it past his most faithful friend. Raymond had tried convincing him to settle for a long while, though he'd given up after a certain amount of time. It felt like poor timing on Raymond's part, choosing now to force Desmond into a pseudo-retirement. Then again, it had been incredibly poor timing on Desmond's part, getting injured and needing the time out of work. And what he'd been doing had actually been work. It had been important, not just to him but other people. At least, that's what he told himself. That's what he'd told himself for years and years, even before he met Layton in Misthallery. The only difference between then and now was that he felt less in regards to his mission. He felt less in general.

Looking up at the sleeping Layton, though, he realized that was only half true. And if Raymond ever did come and find him, he would feel the separation more than he did before. He wasn't positive he would survive.

:)

The next morning, Layton could see the nervousness in Desmond's movements. His fingers twitched all the way through a decent breakfast Flora created. He'd struggled to dress so much Layton was concerned it was the injury again. “You can afford to wear more casual clothing,” Layton pointed out as Desmond struggled with his tie.

“I am not going outside looking like some hobo. If I'm doing this, I'm doing this properly.”

He could only look so proper with his tie looking like that. Shoving the man's frantic hands aside, Layton undid the loose knot and proceeded to tie it more securely. “Suit yourself then. Just don't . . . don't run off.”

They exchanged glances then, and Layton struggled not to bite his lip. It wouldn't help. It wasn't like he could retract his statement, and he certainly wasn't going to add to it either. He didn't need to, because it appeared Desmond completely understood what he was really asking.

Letting loose a sigh, Desmond slipped a shaking hand into one of Layton's. “If I start grabbing at you, don't take me too seriously. Right now, you're the,” Desmond stopped, pursing his lips momentarily. His eyes flitted back and forth between the hand he was holding and the hand on his tie nervously. “You're the only stable thing I've got at the moment.”

That took a moment to register with the professor. When it did, he squeezed Desmond's hand back. There was a part of him that wanted to inform the other professor how sad that sounded. Layton wasn't stable at all, nor had he ever been. He wasn't positive he'd known anyone stable save for his parents. Even then his mother had been prone to hysterics. Instead, he said, “You can cling to me.” Because if that was going to keep Desmond from flying off the handle, Layton would happily compromise his personal space even in public.

The hardest part was getting Desmond to step outside. He gripped Layton's hand so tight his knuckles went white and Layton's digits cracked. Layton had never seen such a conflict on one man's face: claustrophobia versus agoraphobia. Desmond didn't want to be cooped up in the house, Layton knew, but he didn't want to leave either and that was clear. Paused in the threshold, Desmond stared out as if waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light of London. His breaths were shallow and shaky, and his hand managed to squeeze Layton's yet tighter. Layton thought he might have to pull the man out after Desmond stared a moment longer. Then, much to the professor's surprise and relief, he closed his eyes and moved forward. Walking beside him, he kept his eyes closed for a moment longer before his grip on Layton's hand loosened considerably. Feeling the ache in his crushed fingers, Layton didn't pull away as Flora led them on. Before he could ask Desmond anything, the man muttered, “Ask me how I'm feeling and I will punch you so hard.”

The sentence sounded like it could continue, but Desmond left it there. Layton's only response was a small laugh and a quick statement to Flora. “Lead the way.”

Flora had no such troubles doing just that.

:)

Being out was nerve racking. It took him several minutes to stop looking around every corner for shady individuals to appear. He spent a lot of time staying close to Layton, keeping a wary eye on any individual strangers passing by. It felt like hours before his grip loosened any further and he had started to become reacquainted with the streets and customs of being in public. It felt like he hadn't done this in years. In actuality, he really hadn't. He hadn't been out in public since . . . since his time with Layton, Emmy, and the others. This was altogether so surreal for him, and the very last thing he expected to feel was any sort of relief. And yet here he was, more than a little relieved to be breathing air that wasn't ventilated, feeling light that wasn't artificial, hearing things that he could easily hear from home—

Home. He'd come to think of Layton's place as home.

Shaking the thought, he focused on what Flora was talking about. She pointed out shops, markets, places to go, things to see. He picked up on her desire to see Clive at some point. As did Layton, who reiterated to her she wasn't to see him on her own. Ah, so that's why it was important that she disguise herself. Flora glanced at him, like he might say something about it. Instead Desmond discreetly winked at her and the subject was dropped for the time being. He would have to address it later when they were alone.

It was Flora's suggestion that they go see a new exhibit at the museum after lunch. Some remnants of a an ancient civilization had been uncovered, and she wanted to go look into it. Layton also seemed interested, while Desmond tried very hard not to recall what had brought him and Layton to the museum the last time they'd traveled. At first, all he could do was stare at the collection blankly, a number of things crossing his mind at once as he fought to associate their location with something other than the Azran trip. While an expert on the subject, he was very, very much opposed to discussing anything related. He experienced a moment of gratitude towards Layton when Flora wandered into the Azran exhibit and he called her back from as opposed to following.

After being in the building for an hour, he realized he had let go of the professor's hand at some point and hadn't felt the need to try and take it again as he stared a particular piece. He only noticed his lack of contact with Layton when his mouth opened and suddenly criticisms and notes about the artifact started spilling out and he couldn't stop the flow of words. Meanwhile, Layton's arms were folded across his chest and he was listening to the other with a hand on his chin. With Flora wandering off and Layton as his only audience, he could feel his muscles lose their tenseness and his nerves starting to settle and not feel quite so frazzled. The only indication that he had been nervous at all coming in was the shape of his hands as he pointed. They were still somewhat hunched and crooked, but slowly he was regaining feeling in his digits.

As their day proceeded, he even started to forget that he had an injury. Keeping that information hidden was most important, as he imagined his wound would render him recognizable. But he hardly noticed it as he walked along. Every now and then he would turn and a searing pain would shoot up and down his torso, but ultimately he forgot it was there. While Layton and he discussed something peculiar about one of the last exhibits in the museum, he suddenly felt Layton's hand cover his while they leaned on the bar before the artifact. A shiver ran up Desmond's arm as he stared down at the hand.

For a single moment, Desmond felt . . . normal. That was the simplest he could put it. He didn't feel like he had a duty to return to. He didn't feel like he had to run. Just for this moment, he felt like he could actually see himself doing what Raymond had always wanted him to do.

Pulling the collar away from his neck, he returned the gesture and held Layton's hand. Then he whispered, “You have a habit of making me forget who I am sometimes.”

Layton responded just as quietly, “And you have a habit of rambling so much I have to hold your hand to get you to stop gesturing.”

Desmond scowled. “Is that what this is?”

Layton gave him a smile, the most playful one he'd seen on the professor yet. “Sometimes you go on such long tangents you circle back around and start over again.”

And just like that, all good feelings turned into mischief and he gave Layton a false glower. “You're not so much better yourself.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Instead of rambling, you just point at something and declare the answer obvious.”

“Isn't it obvious?”

“No,” Desmond shook his head to emphasize. “Usually, it really isn't. Haven't you wondered why you have to explain everything to everyone so often?”

“Not really, no.” There was a pause. “But the answer usually is rather obvious, you have to admit.”

Desmond snorted. “Maybe to you.”

Their banter continued as they proceeded toward the exit, only to be cut off by a voice both recognized. “Professor Layton,” the man called out, causing both to turn and look. Dean Delmona came to a halt as he recognized who was at the professor's side. “Professor Sycamore!” he cried in surprise. “What brings you here?”

Desmond thought quickly, but not quick enough to formulate an answer for him. He didn't know how she managed this, but Flora came from out of nowhere and declared, “He's vacationing with us.”

“Is he now?” the dean said, utterly fascinated.

“Yes,” Desmond agreed immediately. He really must ask Flora where her talent for lying and ad libbing had come from, because Layton certainly had not taught her those things. “I've been taking a break from my travels.”

“No one's heard from you for a very long time.” Desmond got nervous at this statement. Very nervous. What exactly did everyone expect of him? He had been a recluse to begin with, but at some point he really had been a figurehead in the world of archeology. He hadn't exactly told anyone where he'd gone or why he'd gone, and no one had ever guessed his alter ego. Somehow, he couldn't fathom giving an explanation to any of his frequent disappearances. Which was why he relaxed fully when Dean Delmona assumed, “Off discovering something new, I suppose.”

Desmond gave a small smirk that he didn't really feel, “Precisely.” He'd discovered a great many things, but likely nothing the dean was currently imagining.

“Someone as busy and renowned as yourself likely appreciates being alone with history rather than confronted by people all the time.” To an extent, that was true. To another, it was far from correct. Before he could articulate an answer, however, Dean Delmona declared, “This must be some sort of kismet, as one of our senior archeologists just announced his retirement.”

“Really?” Layton asked.

Dean Delmona nodded. “So if your vacation proves restful enough that you might consider a long break from traveling, a position will soon be open for application.”

To say that fate was laughing at Desmond Sycamore would be an understatement. To say that every higher power he knew of was telling him that he had absolutely no reason to return to whatever it was he had been doing previously would be more accurate, but still an egregious understatement. He actually thought his internal organs had ceased to function as Flora spoke up for him, “That sounds wonderful.”

“Although I am surprised at the announcement,” Layton commented.

Dean Delmona laughed. “I don't see why, Professor. You hardly give yourself enough of a break to recognize what sort of things are going on around you. Social things, that is. You often have your mind in other regions. To further my point, I was actually going to say you should probably be taking the day off like everyone else rather than staring at items you've likely studied countless times. As it is, I'm glad to have run into the three of you.” Then he went off on a tangent about how he couldn't solve his granddaughter's latest puzzle, taking up almost all of Layton's attention as Flora and Desmond moved closer to the door.

Desmond folded his arms across his chest as he proceeded to think through everything he'd just endured. Everything still felt like it was on hold inside of him, and his head was starting to fill with static again. He heard Flora say something as he tried so hard to focus on the present, but had to ask her to repeat it. “Do you think you'll consider it?” she asked again.

He honestly didn't know. He had no clue what to do at this point. Even though he'd been told for years now that he had choices and that he could do whatever he damn well wanted, it was still different than having options thrust upon him that he couldn't possibly ignore. This offer on top of Raymond's continued absence actually made him incredibly paranoid all of a sudden. Also, it made him feel a bit lost. “I'm not sure,” he answered without thinking.

Flora wrapped her hands around his arm and it felt like she was trying to ground him, like she knew how many thoughts were running through his head. “Maybe a little lunch will help clear your head,” she suggested.

He tried to even his breathing. “I suppose you are right.” His words came out quiet even to him, but she nodded anyway. When the professor came to join them, Desmond resumed clutching his hand until the fogginess in his mind subsided.

The rest of the day was uneventful by Desmond's standards. When they decided on a place to dine, he had to force himself to eat something lest he risk fidgeting and feeling weak later in the day. He still caught himself looking over his shoulder often, and the professor took to striking up a conversation in order to distract him from looking for trouble in every nook and cranny of Kensington. Fortunately, he did not bring up the subject of the retiring archeologist and the job opening again. Desmond guessed the professor knew he wasn't exactly ready to think about it. The one time his sidelong glances at the shadows actually procured something was when a cat came out to watch their activities. He thought he recognized the cat, but quickly shook his head. There had been many cats in London he'd encountered. There was no need trying to identify the one.

He didn't realize how restricted his breathing had been until they wound up in the park sometime in the afternoon and he caught himself drifting off on one of the benches, eyes closed and relaxing for the first time since the excursion in the museum prior to meeting Dean Delmona. His sore back had actually started to become problematic as they'd been walking, which had led the three to take a break on the park in the first place. When he opened his eyes again, his head was on Layton's shoulder. The anxiety he'd previously felt had lost its intensity and been replaced by something akin to warmth, which only grew the longer Layton didn't push him away.

His head was no longer foggy, but a myriad of thoughts were still in competition within his mind. He couldn't come to a conclusion on any of them. All he knew was that he was sitting beside someone (the only one) he had wanted over the years as both Descole and Sycamore. In the back of his head, he knew the man wanted him too. For the moment, he could pretend this could be something that they did often. 

Because whether Raymond came back for him or not he still had a duty to fulfill, and he needed to get back to it eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in my tags, next fic is gonna get serious. It will be a jump forward in time (not too far forward), but at this time it is necessary. Maybe once I'm done I will get you guys to send me prompts for what happens in this gap, but for now this is it. We're about to find some shit out.


End file.
